Abbas quad Filius
by California-Italian
Summary: Too bad Eragon hadn't thought of that memory sooner. Perhaps they would've been able to speak to each other in their roles of father and son instead of new dragon rider and former dragon rider. A memory from Carvahall. Spoiler for Brisngr. R&R PLEASE!


**A/n: *Sighs* Sadly I am done with the first three books of the Inheritance Cycle and impatiently awaiting the fourth one which is probably going to be epically long because of all the loose ends in the other three. Anyways, this idea's been stuck in my head for a week. Which, although is a good distration from school (which I unfortuneatly started on wednesday the twenty-third), is inconvenient because I've started precalculus and three honors classes which require all my attention.**

**Disclaimer: Although we are both Italian and share a similar first name, I am not Christopher Paolini, and therefore do not own the Inheritance Cycle. Plus, if I did, Roran would not have a beard because they're...yeah.**

**Abbas quad Filius**

"I am Eragon, Son of None."

Brom looked up from the paper he was writing on to look at the ten year old standing in front of him. Staring back at his paper, he said without pausing his writing, "You are not Son of None. It is impossible." When he got no response, he lifted his eyes from his work to see the young brunette still standing before him and with a look of confusion. "You have a father. You just do not know who he is I assume is what you meant."

"Aye. That's what I meant. I do not even know my mother. Just a name." With a pause of slight hesitation, Eragon continued, "Selena."

Had he been looking at Brom's face rather than his own feet, he would have noticed the story-teller blink six times in rapid succession. But he did manage lift his head fast enough to see a quick nod of recognition of the name. Excited, he asked, "You know of her?"

A foreign expression Eragon had never seen flitted over the older man's features as he stared just past his left ear, across the porch they were on, over the Anora River, and to some infinite reach far beyond any fathomable grasp. His mind, along with his gaze, seemed to try to go to that place in spite of its impossibility. Softly, he spoke, "I knew of her."

Naïve of the shift in Brom's behavior, Eragon's preadolescent excitement began to bubble over. "So then, do you know who my father is?"

"Eka eddyr." He said as he lit his pipe.

The young boy's nose crinkled into an inquisitive stare, an inherent look Brom had become fond of, "That is a strange name."

"As is Eragon, but 'Eka eddyr' is not his name. It is, as you asked, who your father is."

"But that does not make sense."

"You are brown-haired, but that is not your name. Nor is it 'short.'"

Eragon looked annoyed with the mention of his height, but nonetheless nodded and reworded his question. "Do you know the name of my father?"

"Neither is this the time nor the place for such a matter. As it may never be."

For a few minutes afterwards, the only sound to be heard was the clink of metal on metal from Horst's workshop, a young girl's giggle, and Eragon counting out how many rings of smoke Brom blew after taking puffs of the pipe under his breath to keep a froth of frustration from replacing the previous excitement and confusion.

"Why not?"

The older man's gaze went back to the infinite reach, and his voice was just as distant. "You may never understand, but that ignorance will keep you safe from his greatest enemies. Trust me when I say this, Eragon, you are better off not knowing."

Silence crept back among the pair with a warm summer wind that came with a half sunken sun. It cast scarlet, yellow, and violet splashes on the Anora River and the occasional cloud, creating an effect that rivaled even the finest rubies, topazes, and amethysts.

Eragon was the first to speak. "I trust you."

"Thank you."

* * *

**Five and a half years later!**

Sixteen year old Eragon sat in Oromis's hut, committing to memory every action, word, and gesture he had seen Brom do in Saphira's memory from him. He then began to sift through his own memories in search of only some mysterious higher being knew what. A hint? A clue to fact of his parentage? Something. Anything.

A flash of midsummer Carvahall and the words 'Eka eddyr' took over his senses as his mind fell back to over half a decade ago. He began to drown in a swirl of warm zephyrs, metal clinks, bejeweled clouds, and unfamiliar emotions. It was a shame he hadn't recalled this memory while Brom was still alive. Perhaps they would've been able to speak to each other in their roles of father and son instead of new dragon rider and former dragon rider.

In fact, Eragon almost felt stupid when he hadn't realized it as soon as he had learned those two words. He was even more surprised that Saphira and all her sarcastic glory hadn't voiced a single snide remark about how two-legged creatures were so oblivious to what sat in front of their faces. Although she probably would've used a metaphor more befitting for a dragon.

"Eka eddyr. I am."

He felt understanding and content ripple through Saphira.

"I am Eragon, Son of Brom."

**Finito!**

**A/n: Sweet ****:)**** I'm happy with how this turned out, and I really wanna hear what you guys have to say about my first delve into the book section. Flames? They toast the marshmellows that I taunt the jerks who flame me with. Anyways, tell me if you like it or hate it (preferable kindly, but I can take it either way). So review!**

**Also, the title means Father and Son, but it sounds so much better in Latin. Don't you think?**


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